incarnadine
by lyras0xford
Summary: Five times Mikasa dies; four times for the same cause. [mikasa-centric, eremika, rated t for death/gore/dark themes].
1. bloodstains and regrets

**in·car·na·dine** • adjective • \in-ˈkär-nə-ˌdīn, -ˌdēn, -dən\

**1** : red;_ especially_: bloodred

**2** : to make incarnadine: redden

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The first time it happens, she fails to grasp the significance of such an event. She is a girl of nine in a white house-dress, blood dripping down the corner of her mouth, eyes deadened by what her wide eyes had witnessed. She does not even remember how she ends up lying in another empty house, body sprawled carelessly on the wooden floorboards; the cold seeps from the ground and up her skin and into her bones, her bloodstream, but she is numb to it. Nerve endings burn and die within her. Blood ceases to move through her veins, settling instead inside her skin. Darkness clouds her vision, and vaguely she keeps her eyes open, but everything is gone into obscurity. There is a resounding ringing in her ears that grows louder and louder and louder and louder and louder until it swallows her whole and claims her entire being.

But when they pick her up and hit her hard enough for her to see stars, snapping her back into her senses, she recoils and instinctively fights back. Her closed little fists meet the warm skin of someone very well alive and feeling. _Why, you little shit_ – the man hisses through his teeth, grabbing for her hands but failing, for she is fast, fast, fast – _don't you think I'm above hurting you, you're useless to us now, anyway_ – and she doesn't notice when he picks up the knife, where it comes from, but she crumbles to the floor on her weakening side, back again into the comfort of the cold.

Now she is nothing but a spreading stain of red. When she gasps out her final breath, the life deserting her battered body, she doesn't notice –

She had long been gone anyway.

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His father tries to pry him away from such a sight, but he pushes on and surprisingly his tiny frame holds more strength than a nine year old boy's body should have. He has stolen an accidental glance, and he figures if he can't unsee it, he might as well stare it dead in the face.

He looks down at her unbreathing body, the blood-red of her dress, and he feels an uncontrollable anger rush through him, singing in his veins and consuming all thought.

_I was too late._ His fists clench tightly at his sides, scratchy fingernails digging deep into his palms. _I couldn't save her..._

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**a/n:** not a reincarnation, but a second/third/fourth/fifth/sixth(? I think it ends at sixth) chance fic. definitely eremika.

this has been stuck in my head for a month, and was meant to work before chapter 50 and before canonverse, but i was too slow and the chapter came out; i've adjusted a couple things. also, this was meant to be a oneshot of snapshot fics, but got too long for comfort so have a collection instead. retellings, a couple headcanons maybe. also, once again, **warning:** death/gore/dark themes!


	2. second chances and beginnings

**a/n: more like a continuation of the first one. because this chapter and the last are more like a prelude, i'll try to get the next one up soon! (hopefully. it's a busy weekend for this gal.) my sister hates me because apparently all my fics are 'retellings'. um i'm trying to capture the essence of a character's emotions. just kidding i have no originality... except maybe in the last three chapters**

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So when she wakes up, she thinks nothing of it. There is a moment of confusion after her eyes open – in which she looks down and finds nothing out of the ordinary, squinting in the dim light at her own tiny frame and finding _nothing_ there. Her subconscious puts the memory away into the deepest corners of her mind, where all things children choose to forget go – and instead she replaces the memory with the notion that she had fallen asleep and slumbered through the hours. There is, however, a phantom ache in her right side, an almost non-existent throbbing, that she cannot account for.

The men yell. They talk of her monetary worth, how important her mother was _to them_, as if it had been no cost to them to discard their humanity and kill two strangers, if only to benefit them. She tunes them out.

But their yelling turns urgent. And one man falls, the other coming to his aid, only to lie beside the other. Her eyes widen; suddenly she is alert. There is a boy, about her age, wielding a knife and telling the other man to _die, you deserve this,_ and warmth rushes through her body, her senses burning at the sight before her, a guilty relief in her veins.

The boy's eyes turn towards her. They are surprisingly soft. "It's gonna be okay now, don't worry."

He easily cuts through the ropes binding her hands, leaning over her and coaxing her to talk. "You're Mikasa, right? I'm Eren. I'm Doctor Jaeger's son, we came over so I could meet you."

She rubs at the sore spot on her wrists where the ropes had cut through. _A friend_, she thinks. A _friend who has killed for me_. But it comes back to her, and she remembers too late – "There were three of them –" because the footsteps are already approaching –

The man easily takes Eren, holding him by the neck, way above her head. She cannot move; she is paralyzed with fear. The cold once again takes a hold of her, lacing its way up her fingertips, to her arms, until her whole frame is wracked by violent shaking. She is defenceless, and she will have to watch, again. She will have to see another person – _Eren_, she tells herself, a boy, a _friend_, who had come to her aid and shown her kindness – die in front of her eyes.

The man's hands are wrapped around his neck, but Eren turns his gaze towards her, eyes blazing with something she cannot comprehend.

"Fight." His voice is strained, and he struggles still, but the man's grip doesn't relent even a little and she knows, with a dread that weighs her heart down, that his efforts are futile. "You must fight. If you win, you live. If you lose, you die. If you don't fight, you can't win!"

Her fingers find the knife and close around it. Her legs are sore from disuse but they force her up, anyway; her hold on the knife is flimsy, her hands are shaking so hard – her heart beats so fast she thinks it might just _stop_, but the sound continues to drum inside her ears and her feet are glued to the floor and _what if I drop the knife, Eren's going to die_ –

His arms fall limp at his sides and it triggers an onslaught of memories, of her father smiling and warm _welcome home_s and the basic principle of nature, of life, of everything – a revelation, almost, unwrapping itself around her – it is a struggle to survive. _We all struggle to survive. We have to do what we must to survive._

Something like electricity flows through her, charging her muscles and an idea, a resolve starts to take form in her mind, building itself up until it encompasses her and it is all she can _thinkseehearfeel_ –

_I can do anything._

She charges.

She screams.

And her aim is on point.

_One stab from behind, right through the heart. Did those kids really do all this?_

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Doctor Jaeger finds them eventually, two officers from the Military Police in tow. Such is the state they find both children in; both with bloodied hands and huddled together in a corner, with Eren's tiny arm around her. She had thought she was invincible for a while, after she had conquered fear and put the last man down, but the rush had gone away when it dawned on her that nothing had changed – her family was gone.

His father had pried Eren away from her gently, and only at the loss of contact did she realize how warm he had kept her, how his body had radiated warmth to her in waves; the cold was settling in again.

There she had been, a girl of nine, thankful at a second chance of life but resigned to a bleak one made of bitter days in solidarity; she had seen it play in her head, seen a life of fending for herself and working odd jobs to meet ends, to have no one of authority guide her; a life of growing up alone, of cruelty, of bitter truths that would unfold themselves to her as time trudged on.

But that night Eren wraps his scarf around her, and with her fingers numb the warmth it emanates is all she can feel. But it is when he takes her hand – "Let's go to our home" – that her nerve endings ignite once again, and the feeling radiates through all there is of her. She lets him lead her away in silence; her heart swells with gratefulness. But she doesn't dare open her mouth to speak, because when the words tumble out of her mouth – and she knows they will come out ungracefully – she fears they will lose its sincerity, and no words could ever do justice to the magnitude of what he had done for her, was doing for her, and in the compassion she sees in his eyes and the squeeze he gives her hand in reassurance, a promise for the future, of a beginning companionship.

It is then that she feels truly _alive_.

Here is a new home. Here is a new family. Unfamiliar, and could take a while to get used to, but a home and family willing to accept her nonetheless.

And here was a boy. A friend. He saved her life. He killed for her.

_Eren_, she thinks. _And I killed for him too._


	3. child soldiers

**a/n: i'm sorry, I'm a terrible updater. i'm a terrible highschooler, too. you'd think I'd have been busy being productive, but... not even. this has been sitting in my drafts for quite a while. i apologize, again. also, thank you to everyone who spends time leaving a review! they make my day.**

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"Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood

Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather

The multitudinous seas incarnadine,

Making the green one red."

Macbeth (2.2.61-3)

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She follows the boy home. Follows him to the fields where he is sent of collect wood by his mother, when in reality it is her nimble hands that get scratched up while he dozes peacefully under a shade. She follows when he rushes headfirst into a fight, his determination strong but her fists stronger, and the first time he tells her: _I didn't need you to fight them for me_, but the words dry themselves out over time.

He leads. She suspects he isn't aware of it - his instincts and almost romantic yearning for the world outside carry his feet, and when he leaves he expects not to be followed. But as the sights outside are the forces that propel him forward, puppet-like, he is that for her.

She follows when he decides - or, rather, actually walks into a military base and registers to become a soldier. It had never been a hard decision, or one made in haste, or one made only recently; it is no surprise. It is one that, as children, he had talked endlessly about - _When I'm eligible I'm going to train for the army - I'm not going to sit around and be cattle!_ - a desire so integrated into his thinking, engrained into his soul, that it is physically a part of him, strengthened only by the year of restlessness between the fall of Wall Maria and the beginning of their military career, when days were dark and dreams turned improbable, hands numb against the cold of the winter, children barely old enough to take care of themselves forced into labour to _live_ –

That year they watch as the light leaves Armin's eyes, slow and dream-like with each wane of the moon; Eren and Mikasa share furtive glances, and when they are old enough, they join a cause to commit to, a plan of action, if only to do _something. _Armin follows.

She follows when Eren says he is going into the Survey Corps. Here is another one - a given she had expected, so she is not surprised. He is, however, when she tells him _If you go, I'm going with you_.

_You should join the Military Police_. His voice is gruff, but the edges in his eyes are soft. _You're the top graduating student. You, of all people, deserve to be safe inside the walls_.

She doesn't know why, but his words leave a flush in her cheeks. He doesn't notice. He makes more attempts at persuading her into choosing the safer path, if safety is something they can guarantee at all – _You don't owe me anything, you know_ –

_I have a debt to repay_, is all she says. He groans in frustration, and she pulls the scarf up to her cheeks. There is _I'm not just doing this for you, I'm doing it for me_ in her thoughts, and she tries but it is so selfish, _too _selfish – and the words never leave her.

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_He's not hurt, thank god_ – she stands and looks around her, heart turning itself inside out in her chest, though she has no idea why – "Where's Eren?"

Armin finally looks up at her, blue eyes large and wild and _so_ sorely apologetic, her own eyes widen in response; _I haven't seen him like this since his grandfather passed_, she thinks, and for a moment her head blazes and the everything is in stop-motion and she sees him open his mouth to speak and she wishes he would stop, wants to reach out and hold his words back, wants to fly back over the walls while she can because the throbbing in her chest stops but it comes back doubled and she _knows_. She knows she knows she_ knows_ she wishes she didn't know hadn't known didn't have to know, wishes she had been there because this would not be happening _if she had just been there._

_I can take all these titans down. I can lead everyone into safety._ Her mind numbs. She turns to the others, calls them weak, spineless cowards; the words are cruel but she couldn't care less. Her body moves ahead of her, and she lets herself go; her mind wanders into galaxies of green, eyes wide and ablaze with an inextinguishable fever, the grasses of Shinganshina they had lain upon as children, hopes and dreams and nightmares and debates on the shapes of the clouds spoken in hushed whispers under the expanse of blue sky. It is a green she will never see again –

She falls. Tumbles, if to better illustrate the ungracefulness of the action. She hits the ground and it should hurt but it doesn't, her body is sore but the thought is so far back into her mind she couldn't care to notice.

Gas. That had been the problem. She reprimands herself, _stupid, stupid, stupid_ - but there is a part of her that knows she had been moving recklessly, letting her gas dwindle to nothing on purpose, _you were well aware of what you were doing, whywhywhywhywhy_

_I called them cowards,_ she thinks, and something between a sob and a laugh escapes her, its taste acid in her throat. _I prompted them into action. Led them to their imminent deaths, and I'm the one lying here giving up, while they fight because of me..._

_I'm sorry. It's always been me – I'm the cowardly one. I promised Eren I would follow him a long time ago, and this is me keeping my promise, always, until it all goes away._

Streams make their way down her cheeks. It is a last chance at mourning she does not refuse. To the other trainees Eren might've just been a suicidal bastard with a sense of purpose so strong it was almost painful in too many ways; and when she becomes another casualty as well, memory will fail others and deaths will become a normal occurrence – there will be no one to cry over the loss of the boy who had held her hand and led her out of the darkness and into the warmth of a safe home. Her hand clutches the tiny blade she has yet to lose – she watches it shake in her hands, scratching and cutting at her skin as the titanic footsteps move closer, its impact more the shaking of her tiny frame than the loud sound filling her every sense.

Her eyes close. _This is it, _she thinks. She is almost _glad_. Soon she is in the air – bones crush blood stops air fades from lungs; there are words on her tongue, an afterthought forming in her mind, but it is all gone before –

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They are surrounded by fellow soldiers, and he thinks he never thought he would see such a sight in his life – to be looked upon with fear and such a burning _hate_ from people whose side he was on, people he fought _with_. Armin tries, but he isn't strong enough to hold them back, the poor boy had never had a chance – they bind Eren's hands, and he thrashes, screams – _I'm human, I'm human, please_ – and Armin calls for him, but they restrain him too, hands behind his back, face pushed into the ground.

"He's rogue, he could turn anytime now – we aren't above killing Titans, after all –"

His hands find their way loose of the ropes and there is yelling as the soldiers realize this; he brings his hand to his mouth following a gut feeling, and his teeth graze skin when the cannon goes off.

When the smoke clears, both human-titan and protector are no more a threat – their lack of a pulse and a heartbeat is proof enough.

Mikasa isn't the only one to fall that day.

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**a/n: yes we were reading macbeth in advanced english. ****also, father dearest lost my outline for this story and i'm honestly too lazy to write out a new one. i'm planning this as i go along, and it looks like this'll be much longer than i expected (if i keep splitting deaths and reincarnations, anyway). ****next up: a reincarnation and the female titan. mmm.**


	4. promises and repercussions

**a/n: longer a/n at the end, you should read it**

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It is six years before the fragments of the broken universe shift around her again.

Her eyes shoot open and she can vaguely recognize the feel of wind, whipping her hair wildly around her face and rendering her unable to comprehend what is happening – all she can see is a blur of grey-black and the earth colours of the city, the murky blue of a stormy sky above her, and she is tumbling, spinning, heaving through the air, chest palpitating in the shock of its restart, no grasp on reality – _is this what death feels like?_

Her body collides into something hard and pain blooms in her side before her mind tells her, too late, that she is _fallingfallingfalling_; the mere idea of her loss of control sends her into a panic, but her helplessness at such a state makes her body move by its own accord, arms reaching hands grasping at nothing but empty air, legs kicking unable to steer into any clear direction –

She lands onto something metallic; she knows because of the loud twanging sound it leaves reverbating in her ears. It goes on and on and on, louder and louder and she looks at her surroundings, wild-eyed and awed, so disbelieving because she's been here before, she's done this before, she had given up and Eren's dead and her eyes go wide because he is, _he still is_, and she is alive but he isn't, _still isn't_, and that fall hadn't been death because she knows what death is, had been through it, not once but twice and this isn't the first time – dread floods her and seeps into her veins, and it is _cold cold cold_, and she doesn't want it to but the memory of that night resurfaces, a quiet thrumming in her head screaming for attention because she had known always known it in herself – – – she had been a child but that first time was a rude awakening and not the bad dream she had insisted it was.

The phantom ache is back, a throbbing in her side so familiar she hadn't felt in years, had forgotten in favour of other strains and distresses of her body. But it is there and she is alive, alive and _how_ when her nine-year old body had been a sheath to a blade seven times?

The sound of footsteps grows louder in her ears, and she almost forgets, had almost forgotten, that she had been destined to die here, once.

It had been unpleasant, a pain and a disconnect and then nothing – not agonizing like she thought death at the hands of a titan would be, but an inconvenience. One she refused to live through again.

She had pitied herself. She had chased death down in an attempt to get closer to it, hurtling a hundred miles an hour into eternal sleep. In the end, she didn't get it. She didn't deserve to _have _it. She had been a coward, but death was not the only option.

Her thoughts return to a boy with green eyes and muscled arms but nimble fingers; remembers the way his name had first felt in her mouth, and the grin he had given her upon hearing her mumble his name. She had promised to fight and she will, because who is left to remember him but her? A blond boy crosses her mind as well; there was an unspoken promise between the three of them, of keeping each other alive. She knows for certain he had tried for Eren – Eren did for him. And now she, in turn, was to do it for Armin, as he would for her.

She grasps the knife in her hand. It is small and useless, but it is all she has left. If there is the tiniest chance of her survival she will risk it, and if she dies in the process, supposing she actually does this time – she will have died trying, reaching for life, another chance she is too selfish to be asking for –

And then there is another pair of footsteps from behind her, and she barely has any time to turn around when the titan comes forward and delivers the blow that should have been hers. The suddenness shocks her into gratefulness – she is _alive_, and it is an escape. Armin comes for her with a look in his eyes, because he remembers too; they regroup and use the rogue titan to their advantage, and when the call of safety arrives they tell her to follow but her feet are rooted to the ground – she is fascinated because she recognizes something in it, an impossibility, but it was this creature that had saved her life as well, whether it had been aware or not. And it isn't strange to her that she feels pity, human compassion, stirring in her chest for the inhuman when it is devoured.

Everyone looks on in shock when a body rises out of the remains, swaying and unsteady, but there is not a moment's hesitation before she starts running toward him, because she knows and had known, and there are no circumstances because she is nothing but pure gratefulness; her body collides with his and it is his warmth that sends her reeling, the steady _thumpthumpthump_ of his heartbeat that makes hers beat so hard and fast she thinks it could jump out of her chest. She cries and cries and cries but he is here and in her arms and alive, and if he had seen her in such a state he would have reprimanded her – _what did you think you were doing? You have to take better care of yourself, don't worry about me –_

She refuses to let them take him. She is swathed in armour - a will strong enough to hold off an army. Her eyes tell a story of a tragic fall and a resurrection, the blood in her veins a mirror of eyes so vibrant they could taint the sea green. They call him a monster; call her and Armin traitors, as if they hadn't risked their lives for their same cause only minutes ago. But she stands her ground, because maybe, in that other life, she hadn't been able to do this – she had let them both down, let fate warp itself around two helpless boys targeted by men run by pure instinct.

She, the strong, stands over them and between harm's way; he, with a determination so strong it transforms him, holds off imminent death; and he, with a brilliant mind that ticks like clockwork, convinces others of their inculpability and military value.

They all survive long enough to choose the Scouting Legion.

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She is coiled acid, an anger so detrimental it encompasses her; she moves so fast she couldn't stop herself if she wanted to, and she doesn't realize she is hurtling towards death by the hands of the female titan until she's evaded it.

There is a shift in the air, a wave so powerful magnified by the force of Levi's body as he pushes her forcefully out of the way - when it leaves her body her limbs are left shaking. She looks at Levi, her saviour, and wonders if he feels it – the reverberant shudder in the air that follows the action, him lacking his usual speed, and his eyes are wide and looking at her and she knows he had, had felt the resistance.

It is the resounding crack that follows that brings her out of her reverie. The injury slows him down none, if anything it makes him faster; he whips around the air too quickly for her to follow, evidenced only by the damage she sees on the female titan; soon Eren is in his arms, unconscious but safe, and she lets his anger at him and at the female titan simmer, leaving instead a queasy feeling that sinks into her gut. It is the third time she had managed to escape death, and not through her own means – first, with Eren's titan form when she had not been aware it was him; second when he turns and surrounds her and Armin with the carcass of a broken body; and third, with Levi, and she knows that with the resistance that followed that this was _unnatural_, that death was greedy to have its fingers around her again, that she is testing its patience by narrowly missing.

They fly in silence. He never mentions it, never brings it up, and so she doesn't. Not even afterwards, when Eren is completely healed and up on his feet, and their mourning period is cut short by the need for quick action against the female titan.

He walks past her, indifference in his stature as it always is. He had never been a superstitious man, nor one to question the natural and delve into the depths of knowledge as Hanji did; he wishes nothing more than to be able to forget the force that had held him back in his attempt of saving her, to dismiss it as irrelevant and past. But she sends him nervous glances - and she is thankful, he knows – she had told him once in quiet and hushed tones, almost regrettably, but he also sees it in those dark orbs, a mystery or a secret he has somehow become a part of, a bearer of: he knows that his actions that day, no matter how instinctive, had made him weave himself into the web of her life, had done and undone some things that were meant to be left untouched. He had _moved _something in the inner workings of the world. But he cannot bring himself to regret it; he had done what he believed was right, and it is because of this that she is able to stand in front of him, the breath in her lungs enough proof of her still-existence.

"I was meant to die out there, heichou."

"Are you chasing death, Ackerman?"

"No." Her eyes are downcast; they refuse to meet his. He raises his eyebrow, annoyance leaking through his normal stoic demeanour.

"If this is about gratitude – "

"I was meant to die out there. I am thankful, but – " she struggles with her words, eyebrows furrowing in frustration; he has the idea that she doesn't know what she is trying to say, what she had wanted to achieve by coming here, but that her feet had led her here anyway.

"You should have let me die. Please don't worry about me; you have other people to protect and I can hold my own. I can take care of myself."

She leaves no room for argument, exiting silently, leaving nothing in her wake and he isn't so sure if she had ever been there at all. There had been no anger in her eyes, it was a sadness, almost – it confuses the hell out of him, because he had saved her life and while he expected no gratitude, she was wanting to die. A strange girl, that Ackerman was. A girl worth a hundred soldiers, who had joined the Scouting Legion with full knowledge that she would have to fight for her life, yet seeking death.

She doesn't know. She doesn't know how it works, but there is a growing dependence, almost, in the reassurance that she will only come back to life. She should know better than to depend on something so intricate and unknown, but Levi is injured and he would not be if he had _left her alone_. Maybe she would've come back to life if the female titan's fist had collided with her back then; maybe she wouldn't have. Maybe there wouldn't even have been a need for saving.

She is here to protect Eren, not to carelessly risk her life. She tries to remind herself of this; but if the former calls for the latter she will not hesitate.

It is a manipulation of some sort, a mangling of the otherworldly by invisible hands that string her to other fates, cutting her down each time only to bring her back, as if her existence were nothing more than an afterthought.

She cannot control it. It is unpredictable as the wind, and that is why she still has to be careful. _Best not to rely on it, _she thinks,_ not when death calls on me so often._

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**a/n: this chapter feels really pretentious, and i hate it. it seemed good as an idea, but now that i've written it out, it makes me really uneasy. please tell me if you actually like where this story's at and want to read the rest still; i only have three chapters planned left, all centred around chapter 50, but i'm not too sure if this is such a good idea anymore. then again the next three chapters are mostly kinda plot (none of this otherworldly manipulation crap i wish i could've written better).**

**anyway, to anyone who has reviewed up to this point: thank you! I know this story is a bore because it's all characterization, but i'd like to hear what you think of the original ideas too (the what-ifs that come after death/the evasion of it) :) this chapter, especially, i'm really nervous about this.**

**do you ever just realize how important diction and syntax are? i joined the advanced english class this year and thought it was the most pointless thing, but it's when you actually **_**write**_** that you realize their effect on the whole structure. if you hadn't already noticed, i use run-on, sprawling sentences a lot for this fic – it just gives a sense of chaos any attempt at diction can't. **


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